the League of Extraordinary Heroes
by Visitor
Summary: An adventure set in the shared universe of every live-action tv show, ever. Or at least, as close as I can come.
1. And Now the News

Prologue

And Now, The News 

  
  
  
  


New York City, 2002 

The apartment of Chandler and Monica Bing 

  
  


"Honey? Can you put on the news?"

"Not right now, no. Two minutes."

"Chandler..."

"Mon, you agreed to take me for better or for worse, and that includes Beaver Creek. Allow me my predilections."

"I don't get your thing for Canadian melodrama. I want to see what's going on with that congresswoman!"

"When did you get all political?"

"Don't start with me. I'm active! I went to that rally last week for Women's rights in Qumar, remember"

"...Mon, you were the caterer."

"That's not the point! Aah! Why did I marry you?!?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"Where's Phoebe, anyway? She was supposed to stop by half an hour ago."

"Ahh, she's probably busy with that new beau of hers, that 'Vincent' guy."

"I don't know about this 'mystery man' she's gotten herself involved with. Why won't she introduce us? Do we even know anything about him?"

"Besides his name? I don't think much...shy, lives in a basement apartment or something. Doesn't like her 'smelly cat' song..."

"Vincent...come on, what kind of a name is that? Something creeps me out about him."

"Cute as your paranoia is, Monica, give Pheebs some space. She's a big girl."

"I guess..."

"...Aaannnnd, that's it for the Creek. Here comes the boring, grim news."

"Finally. Shove over."

Monica left her beloved kitchen and joined her husband on the sofa as he flipped through the channels, arriving on CNN. A pretty girl in her late twenties was rattling off information at a rapid clip. Across the bottom of the screen was the legend: SHOWBIZ.

"...and sources close to Mister Sanders report that things between him and former model Carrie Spencer are REALLY heating up. And hey, after all that poor girl's had to put up with, doesn't she deserve a little happy time? Let's hope the talk show legend treats her better than SOME of the men in her past."

Behind the pretty girl, the graphic depicting a fortysomething man in an embrace with a ravishing woman changes to a taped video feed of a nighttime music concert, spectacular fireworks and all.

"And finally, last night's benefit concert in Angel City, raising money for victims of R.D.7, was a total success, with early estimates predicting an impressive $500,000 dollar take. And despite early fears, security in the sometimes embattled city went off without a hitch. Performers included legend Dan Partridge, country music sweetheart Daisy Duke, and hard-rocking hero Johnny Bukowski, who put on a typically electrifying show. That's it for showbiz news, I'm Six LeMeure. Passing you back now to CNN headquarters, and Bailey Quarters. Bailey?"

The scene on the television suddenly shifts to a busy studio interior. A man and a woman are seated at a desk, and behind them are dozens of people manning countless monitors and machines. The woman, fidgeting with several sheets of papers in her hands, speaks first. "Thanks Six. From CNN headquarters in Atlanta, I'm Bailey Quarters."

The woman, her light hair tied back in a ponytail, glances over to the older man seated at her right. "...And I'm Matt Cassiday. Here are some of the stories we're following at this hour. A funeral was held today at Arlington National Cemetery for General Robert Hogan, who passed away this Thursday in his Georgia home. A decorated soldier and former chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, General Hogan had led a most memorable career, dating back to his service in World War II. Though he spent four years in a German POW camp, then-Colonel Hogan still managed to continue fighting the good fight, staging several spectacular underground resistance missions from within his prison confines. Sometimes inspirational, sometimes downright unbelievable, his exploits at the now famous Stalag 13 were documented in the 1962 bestseller HOGAN'S HEROES by fellow prisoner Peter Newkirk. Following the end of the war, Hogan continued in service to his country in one capacity or another for several decades. Staying on in an advisorial capacity long after his official retirement, Hogan is rumoured to have played a key strategic role in 1984's 'Operation Victory', though much of that information is still considered classified. Whatever the story, there can be no doubt that Robert Hogan was a true American hero. Retired Army Captain James Kinchloe, now the last surviving member of General Hogan's famed wartime POW group, had this to say about the man:"

The screen switches to a taped interview segment, a close up on an elderly black man dressed in a sombre black suit. He spoke slowly and deliberately, words dipped in earnest sentiment.

"The Colonel....I'm sorry, the GENERAL...was simply an amazing man. He did...incredible things, under the most impossible of circumstances, and he did'em with a smile on his face. Working with him was the greatest thing I'll ever do. They don't make 'em like old Hogan anymore."

"So true," Ms.Quarters added as the camera fell on her once more, "...today's funeral was attended by a veritable who's who of VIP's, most notable being President Jed Bartlet, and current joint chiefs chairman Percy Fitzwallace. Also present were former President McKenna, and former British PM James Hacker."

"Security at today's funeral was extra tight," Mr.Cassiday said grimly, "...especially in light of yesterday's assassination attempt on Congresswoman Smart of Washington. The Congresswoman had been receiving death threats for weeks now, as a result, apparently, of some very public anti-Taelon comments she has made recently. At a public appearance yesterday an unidentified assassin fired a single bullet at the congresswoman, missing by only the barest of margins."

The camera shot shifted, and Ms.Quarters picked up. "Unfortunately, Matt, although the bullet missed it's intended target, the congresswoman's husband Maxwell was struck in the shoulder as he tried to protect his wife from the attack. Mister Smart, a former government agent, is reported in critical but stable condition at a local hospital. We have confirmed now that a warning was shouted out to the assemblage only moments before the shooting. It came from an as-yet unnamed photographer who, by some strange piece of luck, stumbled upon the shooter's hideaway in what turned out to be literally the nick of time. The assassin seems to have been posing as a photographer himself, as a camera with a tripod, along with other photographic equipment, was later found at his abandoned position. So far, no word on any images that may have been on that camera's film, although the Washington CSI team is withholding all comments on the case, and their findings, at this time."

"That seems to be happening from all directions in this case, Bailey," Mr.Cassiday noted, "...as we here at CNN have learned from a source within the FBI that the government, still publicly claiming complete ignorance in this incident, in fact is well aware not only of the identity of the shooter, but may in fact already have him in custody. We'll have more on this as it develops."

"This is an incredible story, Matt," Ms.Quarters said, half-turning to her co-anchor, "...did you know both the congresswoman AND her husband were once full-fledged 'secret agents'? That's where they met?"

"Oh, absolutely! Mrs.Smart wrote a wonderful book of memoirs on her whole government career a few years back. It's fascinating reading."

"I'll bet. Also today, NASA director Kelly Wood issued a statement announcing an official opening date for the international space station, now being officially called Unity Station. According to Wood, Unity is expected to be ready for business by no later than August 31st of next year, and the big buzz now is: who will be the first aboard this historic undertaking? Rumours are already starting to fly, possible candidates ranging anywhere from popular television pitchman Gordon Shumway to the members of newly reformed youth organization C.A.P.E.R., so recently in the news for rescuing Kate Gatling, daughter of Senator James Gatling, from attempted kidnappers. We spoke with C.A.P.E.R. spokesperson Shirley..." 

  
  


*CLICK*

  
  


The screen fell silent in a darkened office at the flick of a switch. An elegant finger slid off of a remote control, and an exquisitely tailored, if slightly old-fashioned looking gentleman slumped rather wearily back in his chair. He hated watching the news...it depressed him to see such ill-informed individuals being responsible for dispensing information to the general public. Still, they did get a few things right now and then. He'd have to find out who their Bureau source was and bleed the little weasel. Or at least, scare the living hell out of him.

The man, affectionately (or fearfully) known to some of his lesser associates as Mister C, ruffled through some of the documents on his desk, taking a sip of tea with his free hand before finding the paper he was looking for. It was a DXS report on the latest British team...he recognized few of the names involved, which made him angry. Tara, of course, but the rest were ciphers. He would have to ask Maxwell about them, reassigned or not. They had their own spaceship, for heaven's sake! What was Mother playing at now..?

A slight crackle preceded a sudden voice on the intercom, disturbing the tranquil peace of the office. He noted it with a frown, as well as a sudden red light on his telephone.

"Director Collins?" came the female voice, "...Director, the President is on line one for you, sir."

The Director set down his teacup and stared at the telephone. "Well," he said quietly, "...that's not something one hears every day, is it? Thank you, Miss Welles."

With consummate calm, the Director picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, careful not to let the telephone cord tangle with the flower on his lapel. 

"Yes, Mister President?"

The Director listened quietly for about half a minute, before nodding to himself and saying, simply, "...Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. Thank you."

He hung up the receiver after that, and proceeded to slide open the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a folder filled with classified documents, handsomely printed on sheets of blue paper (the director eschewed computers). He riffled through them for a moment, before he had to put them down on his desk. He was laughing too hard.

"Smith...oh, Smith," he muttered to himself between chuckles, "...I just knew you'd blow it somehow."


	2. They Came From Outer Space

  
  


Chapter One - They Came From Outer Space

  
  


FBI HEADQUARTERS

BASEMENT LEVEL THREE

  
  


Beamish stood patiently and alertly outside the door to the conference room, trying to remain focussed. Guard duty wasn't a particular favourite of his, but he was getting used to it. He counted himself lucky to have gotten this assignment after the USIA was merged with the bureau. He was still having a little trouble getting used to the new regime...and he hadn't the slightest clue what the 'X-Files' were (he hoped it was nothing dirty)...but he figured that any good secret agent had to work his way up, and not ask too many questions along the way.

The meeting had been going on for almost an hour when Beamish heard the door at the end of the hall open, and he immediately tensed. Fumbling for his sidearm, he tried to remember his academy training, when he glanced towards the open door again. This time he saw nothing. He stared bewildered for several seconds before he felt a hand fall on his shoulder from behind him. To his credit, he managed to hold back the shriek as he spun.

"At ease, young master Beamish," spoke the smiling face that greeted the nervous agent, one he immediately recognized. Beamish slid his hand away from his weapon as fast as he could, almost choking in his effort to compose himself.

"Mister C! I-I mean...Director Collins, sir. I...I didn't see you coming, sir."

"I do hope I haven't startled you too badly, my good man. I've come to pay an old friend a visit. You...don't think they'd mind if I popped in for a visit, do you?"

The Director nudged his head towards the door Beamish was guarding. He was under strict instructions not to let anyone...ANYONE...into that room. Unless, of course, they had the proper authorisation. And Director Collins had just that very thing, pinned to his lapel.

"Oh, of course sir! That is...I mean, of course no, they wouldn't mind at all. Go on in."

The Director bowed graciously. "Bless you, agent Beamish. Carry on, will you?"

A moment later and the Director had vanished into the conference room, leaving Beamish to shakily catch his breath. In his time at the bureau, he'd heard...disturbing stories about 'Mister C'. No one seemed to know anything about him...nothing they were willing to tell, anyways. The general consensus, however, was that he wasn't entirely human. Some rumours even had him pegged as a Visitor, and that that was why he kept his office so dark. Beamish swallowed loudly, and tried to put those thoughts out of his mind as he resumed his post.

Just guard the door, he reminded himself sternly...and don't ask too many questions.

  
  


Director Collins shut the door silently behind him, as three pairs of eyes turned towards him. They were seated around a large oval table, hopelessly cluttered with top secret and higher classified documents, aerial photography, schematics, surveillance and medical reports. A slide projector was mounted to the middle of the table, currently flashing an image of several humanoid creatures, asexual in appearance, speaking with some high-ranking members of the government. Collins smiled.

"Have I picked a bad time?"

One of the two men at the table, a man of some years obviously uncomfortable in the suit he was wearing, waved the Director closer. "Collins. What brings you up here?"

Striding towards the table and grabbing a seat next to the second man, a large bald man in an impressive military regalia, Collins smiled gracefully. "I needed a word with you when you were done, Maxwell. Please, don't hurry on my account, though. These meetings always fascinate me."

Maxwell chuckled. "Glad to be entertaining you. Have you met Sydney Bloom?"

Extending a hand across the table, the Director met eyes with a beautiful, but somehow...hollow seeming woman of about thirty. He liked her. 

"Ah yes, Miss Bloom...from the old Committee, am I right? Curious bunch, that."

"Yes," Miss Bloom had to agree, "...they were that. Pleasure."

"And Colonel Briggs, it's always good to see you," Collins said, turning to the military man at his elbow, "...how is your wife? And young Bobby?"

"Oh, they're just fine, Mister Collins," Briggs replied succinctly, "...Robert and Shelley are expecting their second any day now. We're all quite, quite excited."

"Oh, I'm sure," Collins said, "...now. What are we talking about?"

Waving an angry hand towards the screen image, Maxwell scowled. "What else? Our fucking 'companions'."

"Hmm. Taelons have you in a snit, have they, Maxwell?"

Teeth gritted, Bill Maxwell slammed a fist down onto the tabletop. "They've got me pissed off, is what they've got me! Took us years to clean up after the Sirians. Now we've got Taelons, Gua, the Sar-Top escapees, and you don't even wanna KNOW what else. Give me a nice, friendly Martian any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Bill," Collins warned, "...they're not all as affable as dear Uncle Martin."

"What is it they all find so fascinating about the Earth, I wonder," Sydney mused aloud. Collins noticed a touch of uncertainty in her voice...she hadn't been in Bluebook very long.

"Water," General Briggs announced solemnly, "...climate, mineral resources, what have you. Our great blue orb has so very many attractions, Miss Bloom, of which a great number of species are highly jealous. Sadly, that unpleasant emotion is by no means a solely human trait."

"I wouldn't worry about the Taelons," Collins suddenly said almost in passing, raising several eyebrows at the table. 

"Care to explain that, C?"

"Plans are in motion," Collins replied vaguely, "...Operation Victory wasn't a fluke, you know. Emperor Ehawke and his people have already pledged their full support, should it come to a shoving match. And my dear friend Austin James at OSI has made some fascinating advances on Frank Hefflin's old energy-manipulating technologies. Test results have been most encouraging. Have no fear, friends," Collins mused, leaning back in his chair, "...the companions will be dispatched before Unity Station opens her doors."

After a moment of quiet, Bill Maxwell had to let out a laugh. "God damn, C, I hope you're right. After losing both Jupiter 2 AND the Farscape module, the American space program needs a win. A BIG one."

Collins grinned. "Surely you don't imagine I'd let you down, Bill?" 

Maxwell only smirked, and Collins continued. "Anything else on the table?"

Unfazed, General Briggs glances down at a recent intelligence report. "The infestation in Rutherford continues to be contained. I've got a record here of an intercepted communique...some sort of sub-space telepathic transmission...between them and something they refer to as...I think this is right...the giant head?"

"Giant head?" Sydney Bloom leaned forward, curious. "Sounds an awful lot like Orson...are we sure they're not Orkan?"

Briggs shook his head. "The youngest of the brood has grown practically a foot since landing. The Orkan aging process runs in the opposite direction."

"That poor sonofabitch Mork is about to go the wrong way through puberty," Maxwell added, with a touch of melancholy, "...small wonder his wife left him."

"Focus, gentlemen, focus..."

Director Collins tapped a finger lightly on the table, and Sydney leaned forward with a report of her own, eager to compensate for her gaffe a moment ago. 

"Umm...I've set up a meeting with members of the Remulac Grand Council, about possible trade talks. But...it'll probably be a pretty slow process. Took me almost six months just to get them to admit they weren't from France..."

"Carry on, Miss Bloom, you'll manage. What about this fringe group your predecessor had been investigating, Maxwell? I've heard stories about....what is it now, some kind of genetic engineering program?"

"First of all," Bill Maxwell proclaimed loudly, leaning rather authoritatively over the tabletop, "...Skinner isn't my 'predecessor'. I'm just warming his seat until these bogus charges get cleared up, understood?"

With a wave, Collins dismissed the angry rebuke. "No offense intended, Maxwell. My mistake. You were saying...?"

"I was saying," Maxwell continued, taking a breath, "...that yes, we've confirmed the presence of some kind of 'super-soldier ' program on the part of this faction. One of my agents, John Doggett, barely survived a recent encounter."

"Fascinating..."

Ignoring Colonel Briggs' remark, Collins narrowed his dark eyes in thought. "I've had a discussion recently with my counterpart up north, one Mister Edison. He informed me that his chief of security...his sister, actually...has recently discovered evidence that someone may have hacked into data concerning their Ultraman program. I'm wondering if there could be a connection..."

"Ultraman? Wasn't that the Japanese?" Sydney Bloom was becoming rapidly overwhelmed at this particular meeting. "I thought I'd read a memo somewhre..."

"Similar names, Miss Bloom," General Briggs noted with almost careless efficiency, "...highly different results. Have we taken steps?"

Collins nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I've sent a group from level nine, to see what can be done about tracing the disturbance. We'll see what develops. Anything else? Any sign of the Texas youths?"

"Nothing definite," Sydney noted quickly, this having been an early area of interest for her upon joining Bluebook, "...a few vague accounts of 'miraculous' activity along the bible belt area, but nothing concrete. We have teams out investigating..."

"No hurry there, I'm sure," Collins said, an air of distaste haunting his words, "...they were a thoroughly unpleasant bunch to begin with. You'd think a planet as advanced as their homeworld would have discovered smiling by now. If that about wraps it up gentlemen...miss..."

Everyone rose from the table and nodded tactfully to each other, and Colonel Briggs and Sydney Bloom quietly filed out of the room, past Agent Beamish, shutting the door tight behind them. Alone at last, Collins and Maxwell sat opposite one another.

"Your Miss Bloom seems to be acclimating well, Bill. I'll admit I wasn't sure about her inclusion to the team..."

"Hey, if she could handle those committee nutjobs, she can handle this. 'Sides, her exposure to the VR-6 software has actually come in surprisingly handy during first contact scenarios. She'll do fine."

"And yourself, Bill? How are you managing?"

Feigning an air of indifference, Bill Maxwell simply shrugged. "Never better. Why?"

"It's just I do worry so, Bill. You used to be so much cheerier in your dealings with 'little green men'."

"Yeah, well...that was before what happened to Holly. People change."

"SOME people," Collins corrected, before shifting back to business. "I was wondering if I could get your help on a thing or two, Maxwell."

"Shoot," Maxwell said, happy to be back on official turf. A sheet of paper was slid across the table to him, which he promptly started reading. He recognized it, as well as the attached surveillance photo.

"Ahh...Mother's new squad."

"Too many unfamiliar names, Maxwell, it upsets me. Perhaps you could shed some light on this, without forcing me to resort to too much work of my own?"

"Yeah...I've done a little digging already on these birds. Still have a few holes to patch, but...you know King, of course?"

Collins nodded curtly. "Of course. She was over for tea not six months ago."

"Well, I'll tell you right now, we've got exactly SQUAT on this guy..." Maxwell leaned over, pointing towards the image in the photo of a tall, sharply dressed gentleman standing regally in the rear of a small group of people. "I've heard they call him 'Marquis' something, but that's it. I don't know what rock he crawled out from under. Weird."

"This isn't very enlightening so far, Maxwell..."

"Awright, awright...see this young girl here?" He asked, this time pointing out a thin, short haired girl dressed in black, "...name's Mildred Hubble. Until about a month ago, she was a student at someplace called Weirdsister College. I've got people looking into..."

"It's a Wiccan training ground," Collins declared, narrowing his eyes at the girl in the photo, "...so Miss Hubble is a witch, then. Must be a good one to be recruited by Tara..."

"Witches...feh. Don't trust 'em."

Collins leaned back dramatically. "Bill, I'm surprised at you. Dear Mrs.Stevens was a godsend back in '76."

"Yeah, well...I'm just glad I wasn't associated with THAT group."

"Whatever do you mean, Bill?" Collins leaned forward again, amused by Maxwell's unease. 

"Come on," he said, exasperated, "...a witch, a pollack, a defrocked frickin' nun...thank Christ there were at least a FEW serious individuals tossed into that mess."

"Yes...Mssrs. Nelson and Gerard did add a notable gravity to the mix. Certainly weren't there for their personality..."

Maxwell waved the team photo in the air, annoyed. "Can we get back to this?"

Snapping out of his sudden reflection, Collins motioned good-naturedly for Maxwell to continue. "Okay. The fellow with the curly hair here, the only name we have on him is 'Tarot'...seems to be a stage name of some sort. Professional magician. Maybe another one of your beloved witches."

Collins smiled. "That would be a warlock, actually Bill, but pray continue. What about the other three?"

"All police officers," Maxwell stated, first indicating the eldest of the three, a beautiful, elegant woman who seemed to be in her thirties. "This one is Harriet Makepeace, detective sergeant. Apparently royalty of some kind, we're looking into that."

Nodding, Collins glanced at the final two in the photo, a man and a woman. "And the others?"

Maxwell checked some notations on his own sheets, then replied, "Jeff Slade, Holly Turner. Nothing out of the ordinary on the surface, but..."

Leaning in closer, Maxwell adopted a rather conspiratorial tone. "...funny thing? I ran this list of names past Gene Bradford, at Temporal Investigations? And he swears he's got a file on these two." Looking rather satisfied, Maxwell leaned back in his chair. "I'm having lunch with him later on...see what he's come up with."

For his part, Collins felt disappointed. "Time travel," he said, deflated, "...you know, Maxwell, I'm old enough to recall a time when that concept seemed completely out of reach...magical, impossible. How terribly depressing it was to learn that any half-literate pirate with a tricked-up stopwatch can accomplish it."

"Can you BELIEVE we're getting back into it?" Maxwell asked angrily, "...after the mess Beckett left behind?"

"Oh believe me, Maxwell, I did protest..."

"And they're letting the Agency handle it, for crying out loud!" Bill Maxwell took a second to take a breath, speaking again in a level, but still raging voice, "...you mark my words. When Backstep blows up in our faces...and it WILL...we'll be cleaning up the damage for CENTURIES."

"Easy Bill...let's just keep our own pond clear first. What about this craft the Brits have? I've seen reconnaissance, but can't place the design."

"Neither can our boys. It's called 'Akeela', or something like that. Dates back to Roman times at least, but that's all we've got so far. Mother's got a pretty good lid thrown over all this..."

"Yes, the old fox seems to be getting paranoid in his age...I hear he only goes by 'M' these days."

Maxwell smiled. "You're one to talk, Mister C."

"That was hardly my idea, was it? I don't even remember how that got started."

"Some schoolteacher, from the Orkan debriefings. Listen, what else was on your mind? I know you didn't come all the way up here to see what the tea-drinkers were up to."

Hunching forward in his seat, Collins put his elbows on the table and rested his chin atop his hands. "How familiar are you with our current League?"

"Hinkley's team?" Maxwell rubbed his chin, running faces and names through his head. "Yeah, I know 'em. Solid bunch, no nonsense."

"Neanderthals," Collins noted acerbically, "...the lot of them. Knuckle-dragging, militaristic, square-jawed, testosterone fuelled cavemen. And that includes the women."

Shaking his head, Maxwell gestured apologetically. "Look, I know you were ticked that Smith got command instead of you, but..."

"That's all changed, I'm afraid, Bill. As of right now."

"Come again?"

Collins narrowed his old eyes across the table at Bill Maxwell. His face, as he spoke, bore only the slightest trace of a grin.

"They've gone missing."

  
  


TO BE CONTINUED...

  
  
  
  


For annotations and more visit the League online at http://www.geocities.com/the-visitor/Buffybot/loeh/loeh.html


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